


Diplomatic immunity

by BearlyWriting



Series: Jason Rare Pair Challenge [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Guns, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jason Todd is Robin, M/M, Minor Character Death, Needles, No Lube, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Painful Sex, Protective Bruce Wayne, Rape Aftermath, Semi-Public Sex, Vomiting, only a very brief mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: For the DC Kinkmeme prompt:an alternate ending to the story in Batman #424. what if when Jason goes to confront Felipe on his own, things go differently? Felipe rapes Robin, and what happens after that is up to you.“Despite himself, Jason sobs, a pathetic, wet little sound. This is happening. This is really fucking happening. To Robin. ToJason. Batman isn’t going to come in time.”
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Felipe Garzonas
Series: Jason Rare Pair Challenge [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738768
Comments: 29
Kudos: 183
Collections: Jason Todd Rare Pair Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please heed the tags! This fic contains a graphic scene of the rape of a minor. If that’s going to bother you in any way, please don’t read this!
> 
> Here is the full prompt:
> 
> _an alternate ending to the story in Batman #424. what if when Jason goes to confront Felipe on his own, things go differently? Felipe rapes Robin, and what happens after that is up to you._
> 
> _does Batman find out? is Jason too ashamed to tell anyone? does the confrontation on the balcony still happen? I leave it all in the filler's capable hands!_

Robin lands lightly on the balcony.

“Felipe.”

Felipe jumps, liquid from the glass in his hand sloshing over his fingers as he whips around. Robin’s gut clenches, white hot fury surging through his veins at the sight of him. Gloria is dead and this asshole is standing on his balcony, drinking, utterly unconcerned by the fact that he had hurt her. That he’d killed her. And his only punishment is having to pack up and go back home?

Robin thinks of those long, pale limbs dangling above the floor. Thinks of his mom - how stiff and cold she had been when Jason had found her, sprawled across the bathroom floor, like she’d been carved out of marble. Thinks about the working girls he’d known on the street, who’d sometimes come back from a job with bruises staining their skin, dark marks on their necks or purpling their eyes. Thinks about all the women in crime alley who have to deal with evil fuckers like Felipe on a daily basis. Who don’t have anyone to look out for them or protect them or bring their attackers to justice.

Well fuck that. Jason isn’t going to let this happen. He’s not going to let Felipe walk free with the blood of an innocent woman on his hands and no doubt hundreds more victims who won’t ever see justice.

If Robin has to be the one to deliver that justice, then he’ll do it, happily.

“What the fuck?” Felipe snaps, his eyes wide as they land on Robin. “What are you doing here you little -“

Robin moves before he can finish that sentence. Uses his grip on the balcony above them to swing himself forward, planting his feet straight into Felipe’s chest. The impact knocks him backwards, punches the breath out of him. He staggers. Falls back against the railings on the far side of the balcony, his back bent over them, Robin a heavy weight on his chest.

Robin springs backwards, then surges forward again, swinging his fist hard at Felipe’s face. It collides just as Felipe starts to pull himself upright, jerking his head back. Bent backwards like this, all it would take is one little push, one well-aimed kick, and Felipe would take a nose-dive right off the balcony. It’s not the way Robin is supposed to think but Jason can’t help it. One little push and Felipe will never hurt another woman again.

Robin presses forward. His body moves without any real input from his mind. One little push. Felipe is already hanging over the balcony. One push. It’s not like a push is really _murder_ , it’s just -

The gunshot is startlingly loud from such close range. Like an explosion. Pain sears through Jason’s arm and, automatically, he skips back again, his hand flying to the wound. With his gloves on, it’s hard to determine the damage. He wants to look, but he can’t take his eyes off of Felipe, who’s pulling himself upright with one hand on the balcony, the other hand clutching the gun he’d pulled from seemingly nowhere, levelled right at Jason’s chest. Through the surge of adrenaline, Jason can feel the pain of it, sharp and hot, but his arm isn’t a dead weight, so it can’t be too bad. Most likely it’s just a graze - a warning shot.

“You little brat,” Felipe snarls. The gun doesn’t shake. Where the hell did he pull that from? He’s never had a weapon on him before. “Got a death wish, pendejo?”

Robin’s had plenty of guns pointed at him before. Felipe doesn’t scare him. His arm _aches_ but he can still move it. And he can still fight. He isn’t frozen beneath the barrel of the gun. He ducks sideways, feints, surges up to deliver another blow, this time aiming for Felipe’s throat.

The gun goes off again, thunderous, inches from Jason’s ear. It knocks him off balance and his punch goes wide. Felipe takes advantage, cutting in low with a blow to Jason’s ribs that knocks the air out of him, then following up with an open-palm slap straight to Jason’s ear.

The whole world spins. There’s a ringing in Jason’s ears so loud that he can’t hear whatever Felipe is shouting as he tackles Jason to the ground. His vision blurs. Then, suddenly, he’s lying flat on his back, Felipe kneeling over his chest and pinning him to the ground, the barrel of his gun pointed straight at Jason’s face.

Well, shit. If Jason had known Felipe had a gun, he might have done this all a bit differently. Still, Jason isn’t overly concerned. He’s Robin - he isn’t a scared little child with no way to protect himself. And besides, Batman will come before anything bad happens. He always does.

Slowly, the world starts to come back into focus. The ringing is still there - a high pitched squeal in his ears - but now Jason can hear Felipe too, his voice breathless with exertion.

“You want a fight, huh?” The gun presses up under Jason’s jaw, hard enough that he can feel the pressure of it when he swallows drily. “And no Bat? You trying to be a big man?”

“And hurting innocent women?” Jason snaps. “That’s being a big man, is it?”

There’s blood in Jason’s mouth, tainting the words with iron, spilling across his tongue from where his teeth have cut his cheek. Felipe bends low over him and Jason can smell his cologne, heavy in his nose.

He spits. A glob of blood hits Felipe square in the cheek, bright red against his skin. He rears back, his face twisted in disgust, then his hand cracks down hard across Robin’s face. It sends Jason reeling again, even with Felipe’s knees pressing heavy on his chest.

“You little hijo de puta.” The gun presses hard enough against Jason’s throat to shorten his breath. “You’ve got a big fucking mouth, brat.”

Jason grins meanly. His lips slide too easily over his teeth, slick with blood.

Felipe cocks his head. He doesn’t look angry, though, he looks...considering. There’s a dark glint in his eyes that sends goosebumps prickling over Jason’s skin. He squirms as much as he can with Felipe’s knees pressing in on him and the gun at his throat. Felipe’s free hand comes up to cup Jason’s face, right over where his backhand had connected, brushing over the forming bruise. Jason starts to jerk his head away, but the gun stills him.

“It seems my time with liberated American women is at an end. Shame. Gloria was always fun.”

Anger burns through Jason. “Gloria’s dead,” he snaps, sick over the reality of the words. Gloria is dead and the monster holding a gun on Jason killed her. And he doesn’t care, Jason realises, watching Felipe’s lip quirk. He killed her and he doesn’t care.

“Is she? Silly little bitch. I was looking forward to a final bit of fun.”

“Fuck you,” Jason spits. “You assho-“

Felipe cuts him off by pressing one thick thumb between his lips. Instinctively, Jason bites. More blood blooms in his mouth and Felipe yanks his hand free before delivering another brutal slap. 

It hurts but Jason’s has worse. He blinks against the stars flickering across his vision, trying to chase away the darkness creeping in at the edges. His pulse throbs hard in his throat, rushing in his ears. Distantly, he hears the sound of a belt buckle being undone, the raspy hiss of a zipper pulling down.

Jason goes cold. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. This isn’t happening. Where the fuck is Batman? He must have realised Jason had taken off by now. He must be coming.

“Bite me again,” Felipe growls above him, his free hand closing hard around Jason’s jaw, trying to pull it open, “and you won’t have a mouth left to bite with.”

Jason bares his teeth. Fingers slip past his lips and slowly pry his jaws apart. It would be so easy to bite again but the gun is still pressing hard against his throat and Jason has no doubts about the fact that Felipe will use it. He’s a scumbag rapist who’s practically untouchable. It’s not hard to believe the threat of the gun at his skin.

Batman will come for him. Jason just needs to stay alive long enough for a rescue.

“It’s a shame about Gloria but I’m not picky, pequiña ave. If you’re so keen to volunteer, I can put that pretty mouth to better use.”

“Fuck you,” Jason snarls as best he can around the fingers in his mouth. His stomach is a tight knot. The wound on his arm aches. His heart is punching against his throat, hard enough that he can feel it throbbing against the warming metal of the gun.

Where the fuck is Bruce?

Felipe smirks. Then he shuffles forward, pressing one knee to Jason’s arm, sending searing pain through the bullet graze there. His other knee settles by Jason’s head. The buckle of his belt brushes against Jason’s chest.

“Open up, Robin. Let me see that pretty pink tongue.”

The grip on Jason’s face lifts but only so Felipe can fish himself out of his pants. He’s already hard, his cock straining in his grip. Jason’s heart sinks. When Felipe reaches for his jaw again, Jason tosses his head instinctively trying to escape.

The gun shifts to Jason’s temple, pressing hard enough to bruise and Jason goes still. There are only two options here - let Felipe fuck his mouth or take a bullet to the head. Neither are good choices but...Jason can survive this. All he has to do is get through this.

Felipe’s cock nudges at his lower lip. Fingers press Jason’s mouth wide. He shuts his eyes, fighting against the moisture building behind his lids. Breathes shakily. Then Felipe pushes in and Jason tastes salt and musk as it slides over his tongue before forcing its way into his throat.

Jason chokes, jerks, feels his throat spasm as it fights against the intrusion filling his esophagus. The moisture behind his lids spills over, hot tears streaking over his cheeks. His free hand flies up to grip at Felipe’s thigh where it brackets his head. Felipe grunts in pleasure, pushing until his hips are flush with Jason’s chin before pulling back and driving in again.

Is this how Gloria had felt? Whilst Felipe had hurt her so terribly? As she’d heard her rapist’s smug voice over the phone? Right before she’d taken her life? Jason has never felt so small, so scared, so sick. In his throat, Felipe is hard and huge and relentless. All Jason can do is cling on.

“Just like a girl,” Felipe grunts. His hips snap back and forth with careless strength. Jason’s throat aches. His lungs cramp for want of air. Maybe Felipe won’t need to shoot him. Maybe Jason is going to die just like this, choking on this asshole’s cock.

The thought is cold and hard in his belly. What is Jason doing - lying here and taking it like he isn’t a trained fucking vigilante, like he isn’t Robin? How is he letting this happen?

“If I get you out of those panties, will you have a pretty little pussy to match?”

Jason wants to protest but all he can manage is a weak, choked sob with the little air he can drag past the cock in his throat. Felipe huffs a laugh. Then he pulls out completely, his cock sliding over Jason’s tongue to rest at the hollow of his throat.

“I want to see, pequeño.”

The weight on Jason shifts and a hand grips his arm bruisingly hard. Jason tries to jerk away but the grip stays firm and he’s too busy gasping relieved lungfuls of air and trying not to choke on nothing to really put up a fight. Besides, the gun is still there - a threat that Jason hasn’t forgotten.

When Felipe stands, he drags Jason with him, keeping the gun pointed steadily at his head. If Jason is going to fight, it needs to be now, whilst Felipe’s weight isn’t holding him down and he’s concentrating more on dragging Jason across the balcony than on the gun in his hand. Jason can’t let him pin him again.

He jerks. Kicks out hard at Felipe’s knee, dropping his weight at the same time to try to dislodge the bigger man’s hold. Felipe stumbles, cursing, but he doesn’t drop Robin like the boy had hoped. Instead, the arm holding the gun wraps around his throat and the momentum of Felipe’s body drives them both forward into the railing. It jams hard into Robin’s stomach, driving the scant breath he’d regained out of him as Felipe folds over his back.

This is bad. That was the best chance Jason had for escape and he blew it. Now Felipe has him pinned against the railing, the gun still firmly in his hand, and his weight pressing hard against Jason’s back.

Now would be a perfect time for Batman to show up.

Well, scratch that. The perfect time for Batman to show up would have been before Robin had a cock shoved down his throat, but now is definitely the second best time. Better late than never, but not _too_ late, Jason hopes. Batman won’t let this happen to him.

Jason lifts his head enough to scan the horizon, a little desperately, for a black-clad figure. He must know, by now, where Jason had gone. Why isn’t he here? Why hasn’t he chased him? There’s nothing but apartment blocks and the weak Gotham sunlight, glass windows staring back at him like eyes. Is Felipe going to do this here? Out on his balcony where anyone can see?

Jason shivers. God, he hopes not. God, how he wishes this wouldn’t happen at all.

Hard metal presses against the back of Jason’s skull and forces his head back down. A hand grips his hips, hiking him up until his feet no longer touch the ground, until he’s dangling precariously over the edge of the railing, just Felipe’s hand on him and his own death grip on the ledge keeping him from falling.

Maybe it would be better to fall. Robin has his grappling gun after all - and he could probably reach it in time. He’d just have to hope that Felipe is a bad enough shot not to hit him as he falls.

Except, Felipe’s weight keeps him in situ. There’s not much chance of Jason wiggling his way out of this one.

“You tricky little bitch,” Felipe snarls in his ear. “You want me to punish you, huh? You want it to hurt?”

“Get off of me,” Jason snarls right back. “When Batman gets here -“

“I don’t see no Batman, pajarito. Just a cute little ass that’s begging for some attention.”

A hand gropes Jason hard through the material of his cape and shorts. He jerks, his heart in his throat as the movement tips him dangerously forward.

“Here,” Felipe says, reaching up and tugging hard at Robin’s cape, “let’s get this out of the way.”

Jason chokes at the pressure, his back bowing as he’s dragged upwards before the emergency clasps release and the cape falls away. Without it, Jason feels painfully exposed, even though technically, he’s still dressed. The material of Felipe’s trousers brushes against his bare legs. The buckle of his belt is pressed into the meat of Jason’s upper thigh. He can feel his hardness against him.

Despite himself, Jason sobs, a pathetic, wet little sound. This is happening. This is really fucking happening. To Robin. To _Jason_. Batman isn’t going to come in time.

Felipe slips thick fingers beneath the leg of his shorts. Then he yanks them hard to the side. Jason feels more than hears the material rip, tension pressing hard into the meat of his ass before abruptly giving way. Cool air brushes over his skin before it’s replaced by the heat of Felipe’s palm as he gropes between Jason’s legs.

Jason jerks again. It doesn’t dislodge Felipe’s hand. Fingers press over Jason’s balls, then further up, circling his hole, teasing the fluttering rim of muscle.

“No pussy,” Felipe says, as casually as if he were talking about the weather and not holding Jason over the balcony railings and threatening to rape him. “But I bet your asshole’s tight. Gloria was too, you know, even though she was a whore.”

Revulsion seals Jason’s throat shut. He swallows thickly against the surge of bile threatening to spill across his tongue. More shameful tears leak over his cheeks.

“Please,” he begs and his voice is small and strained and _not his_. “ _Please_ , don’t do this.”

Felipe just laughs. “That puta begged too,” he says,

Then he grips Jason’s hip and pushes _in_.

Jason screams as Felipe’s cock breaches him. It’s hot and thick and seems to last forever, Felipe thrusting in and in until his hips press flush against Jason’s ass. It _hurts_. Worse than anything he’s felt before. And he knows it isn’t the worst pain he’s ever experienced. Knows it can’t be as bad as a bullet wound or a knife or a burn, but it _feels_ it. It feels as though Felipe has pressed a blade deep inside Jason. As if he’s tearing him apart from the inside out.

Felipe groans as he sheathes himself deep and Robin’s scream tapers to a pathetic little whimper. His fingers dig in hard enough to bruise but Jason barely feels them. His whole consciousness is narrowed with laser-point focus to the enormous intrusion inside of him. To the gut-deep violation that’s currently tearing him apart.

“Stop,” he gasps as Felipe grinds his hips in a tight little circle, somehow pressing himself even deeper. “Don’t, _please_.”

Felipe ignores him, of course. Just rocks his hips, dragging himself out before thrusting in again. Something deep inside Jason flares in agony and he screams again, a startled noise of pain. If he were more in control of himself, Jason might bite his lip, might try to force the noises back down in his chest where they belong, but he isn’t in control of himself. He’s so out of control that he can’t do anything but hang limply in Felipe’s grip, staying pinned to the balcony by virtue of Felipe’s weight against his back and his hand against his skin, being torn apart like a butterfly pinned to a board. What does it matter if he screams? Felipe has already taken everything from him. He’s torn everything that makes Jason _him_ to shreds and scattered it in the warm Gotham breeze.

Wet lips touch his neck. Jason feels his pulse beat beneath his skin. Wonders if Felipe can feel it as he sucks a hickey into his throat. Wonders if he cares. The skin beneath his mouth throbs as blood is drawn to the surface. Jason has had a hundred bruises before - as Robin and well before that. None of them have hurt like this, none of them have _ached_ like this. 

He squirms. Blood throbs in his head. Hot tears prick in his eyes before trickling over his skin. With his head hanging low like this, they streak hot furrows over his temples, disappearing into his hairline, dripping over his ears. Felipe drags his mouth across Jason’s neck, sucking at the knobs of his spine, just below where the gun is pressing hard against the base of his skull. Each rough thrust rocks Jason forward, tipping him dangerously over the railings with every meeting of their hips. Every time, Felipe drags him back again, working him bodily over his cock, refusing any means for Jason to escape the hard line of him burning inside him.

God, if Batman could see him now… Just moments ago, Jason had been praying for his mentor to find him, to save him. Now Jason hopes that Batman is miles away. That he has no idea where Jason has gone or where to find him. Before...well, before, there was something to save. Now, Batman only has his shame to find. Jason can’t help imagining it - Batman swinging over the horizon, expecting the face-off that Jason had been planning with Felipe, expecting to have to stop Jason, maybe. Imagines him finding Jason like this instead, bent over the railing of the balcony with Felipe’s cock up his ass, tears staining his skin, blood trickling over his thighs. 

“Fuck,” Felipe gasps, between low noises of pleasure. Nothing about their coupling is quiet. Jason’s face burns with every slap of skin against skin, every grunt of pleasure or punched-out noise of pain. “You’re fucking tight.”

The hand on Jason’s hip sneaks between his thighs, groping him carelessly through his ruined shorts. “Are you a virgin, pequeño?” A breathless laugh. “Am I your first?”

A sob tears it’s way out of Jason’s chest. And it shouldn’t matter, because what Felipe is doing is bad enough, is fucking evil enough, that it shouldn’t matter whether he’s Jason’s first or not. And yet, the idea of this asshole taking Jason’s virginity, taking that small bit of innocence from him, that part of him that Jason had managed to cling to despite his years on the street - it hurts. Everything hurts. Every thrust inside of him feels as though Felipe is dragging a shard of glass through his insides. His hip aches where Felipe’s fingers had been pressed. His throat throbs at every spot where damp lips had touched.

“Please,” Jason sobs again and it feels like the only word he can say, even though Felipe hadn’t cared about any of his other pleas. Even though he clearly hadn’t cared about Gloria’s either - or any of the other people he’d undoubtedly hurt this way.

God, Jason had been so stupid, so cocky. He’d been so sure that he alone could serve justice to the diplomat’s son. He’d been so consumed by that image of Gloria’s body, the pale stretch of her legs, the bruise still purpling her eye from Felipe’s fist. He’d wanted to make Felipe pay.

And what does he have to show for it? Just his own injured pride, his own pain and humiliation. Is that why Batman hasn’t come for him? Because he knows, somehow, that Jason isn’t worth it? That he’s tainted now. That nothing he will ever do can make up for this monumental lapse in judgement, this utter failure. Dick Grayson would never have ended up in this position, he knows. The golden boy wouldn’t have let Felipe Garzonas get the better of him. He never would have lain there and taken it as Felipe had forced his cock into his throat, as he’d bent him over the balcony and shoved his dick up his ass where anyone could see.

“Fuck,” Felipe curses and Jason feels him speed up, his thrusts frantic now as he rocks against him. The gun presses harder against his skull, forcing him further over the balcony even as Felipe clutches at him and holds him close.

This is it. It must be near the end now, Jason thinks. Hopes. Felipe bends low over him, thrusting into him in hard little rabbiting jerks, groping at Jason’s soft cock as if he might somehow encourage him to hardness now. Thankfully, Jason remains soft and the pressure of Felipe’s fingers is only painful rather than arousing. If, somehow, Jason had gotten off on this, he doesn’t know how he would live with himself.

He doesn’t know how he can live with himself now. He understands with a painful new clarity, exactly what had driven Gloria to hang herself from the ceiling of her own bedroom. If he makes it through this without the gun going off, he has no idea how he’ll ever face Batman again. No idea how he’ll be able to look his mentor in the face, knowing how badly he’d fucked this up. Knowing that he’d let Felipe Garzonas, of all people, get the better of him.

Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe Felipe will blow his fucking brains out and Jason can stop existing and never have to deal with the fact that this has happened.

Above him, Felipe groans. He pushes into Jason a few more times before thrusting so deep Jason can practically feel him in his throat and stilling. All Jason can do is whimper and gag helplessly as hot liquid spurts up inside of him, burning like acid over his ragged insides. His legs twitch. More tears squeeze their way past his lashes and drip into the air below his head.

Finally, _finally_ , Felipe eases the full way out of him. Hot liquid leaks out behind his cock, trickling over Jason’s thighs and he has no idea whether it’s blood or cum and, honestly, he doesn’t want to know. Neither option does anything but turn Jason’s stomach so violently he might be sick.

For a moment, Felipe keeps him pressed over the railings, the gun still hard against the back of his head. “Thank you, Robin. It was good of you to volunteer to take Gloria’s place.”

Then he steps back, dragging Jason with him until his feet finally touch the floor. Even though he’s on solid ground, Jason still feels like he might fall. His legs are like jelly. The space between his thighs burns and flares with agony as Jason shifts his weight.

Felipe bends to pick up his cape, tossing the bundle of yellow fabric carelessly into Robin’s chest. Jason catches it automatically, clutching at the material with nerveless fingers.

“I’m heading back to Bogatego because of you, Robin. So I don’t think you need to tell anyone what happened here.” 

Jason stares at the ground. It’s an unnecessary warning. Felipe is right - he’s going to be disappearing any day now. It’s hardly justice, but Jason lost his chance for that when he let Felipe pin him to the ground and point a gun at his head. At this point, Jason is just lucky he’s still alive. And it’s not as if he’s going to tell _Batman_ what happened. He’d rather Felipe just put a bullet in his head than have to explain to his mentor how badly he’d fucked up.

“Huh, Robin?” Felipe prompts. “I doubt Batman will be happy to hear what happened. We can just keep it between us.”

A rustle of fabric. The soft thump of someone landing lightly on the balcony beside them. Jason’s heart jumps up into his throat even as Felipe curses and staggers backwards.

“I wouldn’t be happy to hear what?” Batman growls.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for all the lovely comments, kudos, and bookmarks! I hope this sequel is satisfactory! 💕

Felipe curses again, low and rough. 

Beside him, Jason can feel Batman straighten from the crouch he had landed in until he’s looming over them both, a dark shadow blocking out the low light streaming over the balcony. Jason clutches his cape closer to his chest. Keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He wishes he’d had the chance to actually put it on before Batman found him. Wishes he’d had the chance to tidy up a little bit - to put himself back together. But then, maybe Bruce hasn’t noticed his state of disarray. He seems more focused on Felipe anyway, stalking forward as the other man falls back against the shattered glass of his apartment.

“I wouldn’t be happy to hear what?” Batman asks, again and his voice is colder than Jason has ever heard it.

Felipe splutters. The gun seems totally forgotten. Even though it’s still gripped in his hand, he makes no move to point it at Batman. Batman notices it, though, because of course he does. There’s a flash of movement and the gun goes skittering across the floor. Another quick flex of Bruce’s arm, and he has Felipe pinned up against the wall of glass behind him.

Robin feels a little sick at how easily Batman disarms him. All Felipe had had to do was point that gun at Robin and he’d acquiesced to everything that sick freak had wanted. He’d _let_ him overpower him. Let him hurt him. But it took just seconds for Batman to take that power away again. In two smooth movements, he’d neutralised the threat that had kept Robin helpless for what felt like forever.

“Nothing,” Felipe squawks, dangling from Batman’s grip like a naughty puppy. “Me an’ Robin were just talking, mi amigo.”

For the first time, Batman turns to glance at Jason where he’s still pressed against the railings. Jason starts at the sudden acknowledgement. The cape in his hands hides the worst of the damage, he hopes, but he still feels small and exposed beneath Batman’s stare. Can he tell what was happening just moments ago? Are Jason’s lips bruised? Is the hot liquid trickling down his thigh visible from where Batman stands on the other end of the balcony? The white lenses of the cowl give nothing away. Neither does the flat, black line of Bruce’s mouth.

“Robin?”

Jason’s throat is dry and sore. He doesn’t know if he can speak without his voice cracking tellingly. Except, not saying anything will only make Batman even more suspicious.

“I -“ a heavy swallow as Jason tries desperately to work some moisture back into his mouth, “I’m sorry, B. I shouldn’t have come here alone, but - Gloria…”

It sounds so pathetic now. What had Jason actually done for Gloria? That first time, he’d found her too late to protect her from Felipe. He hadn’t been able to stop him from walking, or from contacting her. He hadn’t gotten there quick enough to save her the second time either. And now? What justice had he managed for her?

None. Instead, he’d just given Felipe someone else to hurt.

Batman stares at him. With the white lenses of the cowl it’s impossible to tell exactly where his eyes are focussed. Jason shivers under the scrutiny, then wishes he hadn’t.

“You’re bleeding,” Batman says, his voice flat.

Shit. Automatically, Jason lowers his arms, as if covering the evidence with his cape will prevent Batman from having seen it in the first place. Batman cocks his head curiously. Too late, Jason realises that his gaze hadn’t been on Jason’s thighs and the potentially incriminating evidence there. 

The wound on his arm throbs unhappily at the reminder of its existence.

“It’s just a graze,” he says, weakly. He feels dizzy. He clutches the cape hard enough that his knuckles creak in a desperate bid to stay grounded.

“It was just a warning,” Felipe says. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him.”

Jason feels the hysterical urge to laugh bubble up in his chest. It comes out a strange, hiccuping noise instead, far too close to a sob for Jason’s liking. Batman stares at him for another long moment, the lenses of his cowl flashing as his gaze flickers across Jason. Then he turns to the man still dangling from his grip.

Before he’d turned up here alone and gotten his ass handed to him, Jason would have gotten a vicious satisfaction from the fear on Felipe’s face. Now, he feels too numb for it to really register. Actually, it makes him feel a little sick, that the man staring back at Batman with wide, terrified eyes is the same one Jason had been so scared of just moments ago. That the man who’d forced Jason over the balcony and torn him apart is currently pressed up against the door of his apartment with just the strength of Batman’s grip.

“I don’t care what you were trying to do,” Batman growls. He shakes Felipe a little, rattling his head against the glass. “You hurt him.”

“No -”

Batman’s fist cuts him off. It cracks against his cheek - once, twice. Felipe’s skull bounces off the glass. He cries out in fear and pain, spits blood. Batman’s arms tense beneath his armour.

One moment, Felipe is there, the next, there’s the thunderous sound of the apartment door shattering, and Felipe is gone. Jason had barely seen Batman move but, suddenly, Garzonas is flat on his back on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by glittering shards of glass that are all that remain of his door.

Batman stands over him, a tense, dark shape. “You’ll stay down if you know what’s good for you,” he growls. Then he turns with a flare of his cape and stalks across the short balcony space towards Robin.

Jason is frozen beneath the intensity of Batman’s stare. When he reaches out for him, though, Jason flinches, and then it’s Bruce that’s frozen, his hand still half-outstretched, his face carefully blank beneath his cowl.

“I need to check your arm, Robin,” he says and his voice is surprisingly gentle.

Jason blinks at him. Feels his eyelashes rasping against the lenses of his domino. Feels the way it bunches awkwardly around his eyes where it’s been loosened by the stupid tears he’d let fall. His face is wet too, sticky trails drying over his cheeks. Can Batman see the paths they’d tracked across his skin? He must be able to, this close. Does he think it’s only Jason’s grief over Gloria? Over what he’d failed to stop? Would he believe that it was only the pain of his arm that had caused this reaction in Jason?

“It’s really nothing,” is what Jason finally manages. His voice is a little steadier now, although his throat still aches from Felipe’s abuse. Felipe, who hasn’t moved from where Batman had left him, despite the fact that the vigilante’s attention seems to have shifted entirely away from him.

Batman hums. “Bullet wounds are hardly nothing.”

It sounds like the start of a lecture but Batman doesn’t say anything else. Just reaches out and gently cups Jason’s injured arm. Jason manages not to flinch, this time. The cool leather of Batman’s glove is smooth against his skin. His fingers are achingly soft as they prod at Jason’s bicep, carefully twisting his arm this way and that as his mentor examines the damage. Jason stands still beneath his scrutiny, clutching his cape close and praying that Batman can’t see the heavy throb of his pulse in his throat.

Finally, Batman lets his arm go, but he doesn’t move away. His white-lensed gaze shifts to Jason’s face instead, no less intense.

“We’ll need to patch this up at the cave.” Those careful fingers move to Jason’s jaw, tilting his head so gently that Jason can’t even find it in himself to protest. “You have bruises on your face.”

The world seems strangely blurry. Distant. Jason’s body feels so heavy, like the gravity of the earth has increased, like Felipe’s weight is still on top of him, pinning him down. He manages to shrug, not looking at Batman. Not looking anywhere. 

“He got a couple lucky hits in,” he says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away.

In contrast, Batman sounds too loud, too close, when he says: “And your neck. What happened?”

Jason shrugs his head out of Batman’s grip. He wants to put his cape back on but he’s too scared to let go of it whilst Batman is so close. He’s scared of what Batman will think of what he sees. Why can’t he turn back to Felipe? What is he doing focussing on Jason when the man who killed Gloria is just lying on the floor behind him?

“Nothin’,” Jason says, mulishly. “We talked. I - I wanted him to know. To know he killed her. He shouldn’t get away with it.”

What he can see of Bruce’s face is a strange mix of soft and hard. “I’m not angry with you, Robin. You know you can tell me anything.” 

Which is a bald-faced lie. Of course Batman is angry at him - he’d gone off on his own to recklessly confront a man who they legally couldn’t touch and he’d stupidly gotten himself hurt. There’s no way Batman isn’t thinking about benching him right now - or worse. If he finds out exactly how badly Jason had let Felipe get the better of him, Jason has no doubt he’d never fucking speak to him again.

So why does he have the insane urge to tell Batman everything? Why does Batman’s gentle probing make Jason want to spill his guts all over the place? 

“Robin,” Batman says. The word is soft but there’s an urgency to it that makes Jason think he’s missed something - a question, maybe, or another demand for explanation.

Jason blinks again. Batman shifts until he’s all Jason can see, a dark wall of muscle filling his vision. Fingers brush over the back of his hands before working beneath his own, trying to gently break his grip. A soft sound escapes from Jason’s throat before he can stop it. Batman shushes him, tugging at the cape in Jason’s hands until it slides from his grasp.

It’s not like the cape was really hiding anything, anyway. No doubt, Batman has already seen and catalogued every incriminating detail. It’s not like actually putting it on would help much, either. It’s too short to fully cover Jason’s bare legs, too small to cover Jason’s body completely from prying eyes. It’s just - having it in his hands, tucked against his chest, had felt like having a shield. Without it, Jason feels almost as exposed as he had when Felipe had first torn it off of him. It had been scant protection, but at least when he’d been wearing it, Felipe’s hand had touched fabric rather than bare skin.

When Jason lifts his head, Batman is staring down at the cape in his hands with an unreadable expression. There’s a tightness to his mentor’s face but Jason can’t tell what it means, exactly. Anger? Disgust? Something in Jason quails a little at the thought.

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, before Batman can say anything that Jason can’t unhear. “I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry.”

The words seem to startle Batman out of whatever thoughts he’d been trapped in. His gaze flickers up again, lenses flashing. “What for?” he asks. 

There’s no accusation in the question, but Jason feels his face flush anyway. He shrugs, jerkily. There’s no way he can put everything he’s sorry for into words. No way he can say them out loud, here on the exposed balcony, with the man who’d raped him lying on the floor of the apartment behind them.

Or, not lying on the floor anymore, because beyond the dark shape of Batman, Jason can see Felipe pulling himself to his feet. “You should be sorry,” he spits, seemingly emboldened by the fact that Batman has mostly left him alone, “you little brat. When my father finds out about -”

Batman turns so quickly that Jason barely sees him move. The cape slips from his hand, crumpling at Jason’s feet. Then Batman is on top of Felipe, colliding with a crash of bodies, a startled yelp of pain. They slam back into the apartment and Jason loses sight of them where he’s still frozen against the railings, but he can hear the fight. Or, not a fight, exactly, because the beating seems entirely one-sided. But he can hear the thump of Batman’s fists, the wet gurgle of blood in Felipe’s throat, the way Bruce is growling like an animal between every hit.

“How dare you,” Batman roars. There’s an almost unintelligible snarl. The sound of furniture breaking. “Fight back! Or are you too afraid to pick on someone your own size? He’s a _child_!”

Another crash. Then Felipe skids back onto the balcony as if he’s been thrown. Jason flinches as he slams into the railings at his feet. Flinches again as Batman steps back through the doorway, radiating fury, looking exactly like the nightmare the street-kid legends had always made him out to be.

“Get up,” he says as Felipe tries to struggle to his feet and Jason cowers. “Get up and fight.”

Felipe looks up wildly. His eyes are wide and white as they flicker over Jason before jumping back to Batman, then away again.

“You’re loco,” he spits, dragging himself upright with one shaking hand around the railing. “I didn’t do anything.”

Batman’s lip quirks in a furious grimace. His weight shifts, as if he might throw himself at Felipe again and the other man jerks back with a frightened cry. Jerks back right over the railing.

There’s a suspended moment where he seems to hang in the air, his arms flailing as he tries to catch himself, a high sound of fear bursting out of his throat. Robin could catch him, maybe, if he wanted to. All he’d have to do is reach out and grab him and make sure he isn’t pulled over the edge alongside him.

He doesn’t.

Batman doesn’t either, although he could probably reach him too, if he lunged for him. Instead, they both stand in shocked stillness as Felipe loses his balance and plunges over the edge.

Felipe screams as he falls. Had he sounded that terrified, Jason wonders, when he’d been screaming in agony, bent over the same railings Felipe had just slipped over? Had Felipe taken as much vicious pleasure in the sound as Jason is taking in his?

The scream dies abruptly. Jason doesn’t need to look over the balcony to see why. He does anyway. Felipe is a smudge on the ground below him, limbs sprawled awkwardly around him, a halo of red already starting to seep out into the concrete below.

Jason stares. His eyes burn. He blinks and something hot and wet trickles over the inside of his mask. His pulse rushes in his ears.

Someone touches his shoulder, gently, and Jason startles.

“It’s okay, lad,” Bruce murmurs. 

Thick fabric brushes against Jason’s legs as Bruce carefully wraps the discarded cape around Jason’s waist. Jason’s face burns, knowing what his mentor must see, standing behind him, his hands brushing Jason’s hips as he covers the evidence of exactly what happened. Is there blood on his legs? Or something worse? At the very least, Batman can’t have missed the way his shorts are torn, gaping open at the top of his thighs.

An awful, wet sob hiccups out of Jason’s throat. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of the mangled shape below him. Gentle hands close over his wrists, the bulk of Batman bracketing him from behind, and tug him backwards. Jason goes because he doesn’t have the energy to resist. Doesn’t have the strength to do anything but move where Batman directs him, tucking him up underneath the vigilante’s long black cape.

“You’re okay now, son. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“‘M fine,” Jason murmurs, even as he presses his face against the armour covering Bruce’s chest. It scrapes against his cheek, hard and unyielding and Jason pushes until it hurts. “Nothin’ happened.”

The silence above his head somehow manages to sound pained. When Jason glances up, Batman’s jaw is clenched so hard, Jason can see the muscle in it jumping. He wishes, suddenly, that Batman weren’t wearing the cowl. That he would be able to see more of Bruce’s expression than just the furious set of his mouth.

But maybe it’s better not to see the repulsion and disappointment that must be painted across Bruce’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Jason says again, because he isn’t sure what else to say.

“Oh, Jaylad,” Bruce says, so soft. For some reason that just makes Jason cry harder. “I should have gotten here sooner. I should have never let you come here alone.”

Jason thinks about being pressed over the balcony. Thinks about how badly he’d wished for Bruce to save him. Thinks about how he’d wished, conversely, that he wouldn’t ever find him. Somehow, Bruce has turned up at the worst possible time - too late to do anything about it, but too soon for Jason to pretend nothing has happened. And it isn’t Bruce’s fault. But Jason can’t help the pained twist of his gut regardless.

Bruce pulls him close. Jason thinks that maybe he should feel nauseated by the hard line of Bruce’s arm. But he just feels safe. Slumped against Bruce like this, he feels like someone Bruce could forgive. He feels like someone worth Bruce’s pity, his concern.

“I have you,” Bruce murmurs. “We’ll get you back to the cave.”

Then he pulls away, keeping one large hand braced against Jason’s back. The other reaches for his belt, then pauses.

“Can you grapple?”

Jason tries to shrug the hand off of him, sick and embarrassed. But, honestly, he isn’t sure if he can. The space between his thighs throbs in agony. His knees feel weak and shaky, as if they might fold beneath him at the slightest provocation. His hands tremble.

“Of course I can,” he growls. But even he doesn’t believe the telltale crack of his voice.

Batman just hums before wrapping a broad arm around Jason’s waist. Despite himself, Jason stiffens. He feels sore and uncomfortable and embarrassed. But Batman doesn’t loosen his grip, just pulls Jason impossibly closer before firing his grapple over the building and pulling them both over the edge.

Jason wraps one arm around Batman’s shoulders and clings on for dear life. It isn’t often that Jason is so out of control. And he trusts Batman to keep hold of him but it doesn’t make the sensation of flying over Gotham under someone else’s power any less stomach-dropping.

Landing is even worse. Even with most of his weight supported by Batman's arm, the touch of his feet to the floor sends a shuddering jolt of pain straight through him. He can’t stop the little groan that creaks out through gritted teeth. Batman’s arm flexes, then abruptly releases him. Jason sways, dizzy with pain and adrenaline.

When he blinks the black spots out of his vision, Batman is watching him carefully, both hands out at his sides, palm-up.

“The Batmobile is just around the corner,” he says, in a low, soft voice, like Jason is a horse that needs to be handled gently lest he spook. “Can you make it?”

“He didn’t cut my legs off,” Jason snaps. The cape around his waist has slipped a little, hanging low off one hip. Jason fumbles at it with numb fingers.

Batman hums again. He doesn’t move. Jason realises, suddenly, that he’s waiting for him. As if he’s worried Jason will take one step and collapse.

Steeling himself against the pain, Jason limps forward. Batman follows him, cape flaring as he looms behind him like a shadow. The car really is just around the corner and Jason sinks into it gratefully, unspeakably glad to be in the warm, safe cocoon of the Batmobile, even if just the act of sitting sends another bolt of queasy pain through him.

Batman slides into the other side. Jason sits gingerly, trying to sink into himself as Batman starts the engine. He wishes he had a cape, still, to wrap around himself and burrow into but it’s still wrapped around his waist. At least it’s protecting the expensive leather seat of the Batmobile from whatever ugly fluids are now probably staining it.

Rather than immediately driving off, Batman turns to glance at Jason again. Jason has no idea what he’s looking for - or what he sees - but he finds he can’t meet the white-lensed gaze. He stares out of the window instead and wills his still thundering pulse to settle.

Whatever Batman sees, he doesn’t comment on it. Just pulls the Batmobile smoothly out onto the road and heads back towards the cave. It’s not a long drive but it’s a tense one, filled with a thick silence that Jason can’t bring himself to break.

The silence stays until they reach the cave. Thickens when Bruce cuts the quiet hum of the engine. Finally breaks when he says: “Jason…”

Jason pushes the door open and staggers out before he can finish that sentence.

Alfred is standing up by the computer. He looks surprised by Jason’s sudden appearance - and by Batman unfolding himself from the car behind him. Batman obviously hadn’t warned him they were returning, then. He clearly doesn’t know what happened.

Jason clutches at the cape around his waist compulsively. His other hand shifts to his neck, where he can still feel the throb of the bruise Felipe had sucked into his skin.

“Robin? Batman? You’ve returned rather early.” His gaze seems to find the wound on Jason’s arm with unnerving accuracy. “Are you injured?”

“It’s only a graze,” Jason croaks. The last thing he wants is Alfred’s attention on him right now. It feels as though the moment he looks any closer at him, he’ll know what happened.

A hand touches his shoulder. Jason manages not to flinch.

“You can wash up before we take a look at it, if you want, lad.”

It’s surprisingly tactful for Bruce and Jason isn’t about to turn the offered out down. He shrugs the hand off of him and limps as quickly as he can towards the showers, keeping his eyes carefully on the floor in case he accidentally meets Alfred’s gaze. 

“Bring the uniform back with you, Robin,” Bruce calls after him.

Right. Because Batman isn’t about to let him shove the whole thing in the trash and forget about it. He’ll want to… _analyse_ it. He’ll want to look at every stain and tear and try to figure out exactly how they happened.

The thought turns Jason’s already queasy stomach. Once he reaches the shower he strips as quickly as he can, carefully not looking at his own body as he bares it to the chilly bathroom. He doesn’t need to see the bruises and blood there. He doesn’t want to see the pale, goose pimpled skin. The evidence of his own shame.

He leaves the uniform crumpled carelessly where it drops and steps into the shower. With trembling hands, he switches the water on as hot and hard as he can stand and steps beneath the spray. It hurts a little, stinging at the wounds on his skin, drawing hot blood to the surface of the bruises Felipe had pressed into his throat. Despite the heat, he shivers. 

As quickly as he can, Jason scrubs himself down. He tries not to look at himself as he does so. Tries to keep the pathetic whimpers that are trying to crawl out of him trapped in his throat. He thinks maybe he should cry, but he’s too numb for that now. The water streaming over his face is close enough, anyway. It’s not like he can really tell the difference.

When he presses his hand between his legs, he can’t help but let a low wounded sound out of his throat. Saliva floods his mouth, his stomach lurches like it wants out of his body, then turns itself inside out all over the bathroom tile. The water washes it away almost instantly, beating hard against the floor beneath Jason’s feet. Between his legs, the water runs faintly pink.

When Jason finally emerges back into the cave, dressed in soft cotton sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, clutching his filthy uniform against his chest, Alfred is gone. Bruce is sitting alone at the computer, his cowl pulled back to reveal sweat-damp hair, squinting wearily at the screen. An examination table has been prepped, though, topped with a white sheet and a metal tray containing what Jason suspects are bandages and sterilised needles.

Jason’s arm throbs. It doesn’t need stitches, though, he thinks.

Bruce looks up as Jason shuffles his way over and offers him a tired smile. It doesn’t look quite right on his face.

“Put that in here, Jaylad,” he says, in a voice so gentle that Jason almost flinches. He holds out a plastic-lined basket and Jason drops the uniform into it as quickly as he can. Batman sets it aside without looking at it. “Hop up here, then, and I’ll take a look at that arm.”

Jason does as he’s told, suppressing a wince as he settles on the hard metal of the exam table. Bruce rolls over towards him, still sitting in the chair, and Jason knows it’s calculated to make him feel as safe as possible - so Batman isn’t looming over him - and the thought makes him feel hot and angry even though the small and frightened part of him appreciates it.

Gentle hands take hold of Jason’s arm. The Batman gloves are gone but Bruce has pulled on a pair of latex ones instead. They’re cool and rubbery against Jason’s skin.

“What happened, Jason?” Bruce asks, softly.

Jason’s shoulders hunch up by his ears. He can’t look at Bruce. “What the fuck do you think happened?”

“I think you should tell me.”

For a long moment, Jason is silent. He isn’t sure what to say. It’s obvious that Bruce knows what happened anyway, but Jason still doesn’t want to tell him. He doesn’t want to say the words.

“Robin,” Bruce says, more sternly. “Report.”

In the face of that, Jason finds the words spilling out. “I - I went to make sure he didn’t get away with it. Just having to go back to his country...it wasn’t right. Gloria deserved more than that.”

Bruce offers no opinion on that. Just says “This is going to sting,” as he wipes antiseptic across the wound on his arm. It does hurt, but it’s such a minor hurt in the grand scheme of all the other hurts that Jason doesn’t even flinch.

“I attacked him. On the balcony. I just - I just wanted him to hurt a little. For what he did. But he...he pulled a gun on me. Shot me. He’s never had a weapon before.”

Jason pauses, waiting for Bruce to interject. To tell him how reckless and stupid Jason was. But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps working tenderly on his arm.

“He - he held the gun to my head. Pinned me down on the floor. Knelt on my chest. Then he - he made me…made me suck his - his -“

The hands on his arm freeze. Still, Bruce doesn’t say anything. Jason risks glancing up at him and finds him sitting as still as stone, his eyes shut tight and his face tense. 

“I’m sorry,” is all Jason can say. “I wouldn’t have, I swear! But he - he had the gun and...I should have fought harder. I could probably have got the gun away from him.”

“No,” Bruce says. His voice is oddly stiff. “No, you did the right thing Robin. The most important thing is staying alive. You did everything right.”

Jason shuts his eyes and swallows against the sudden thickness of his throat. It’s everything he wanted Bruce to say to him, but it sounds hollow. Jason knows it isn’t true.

Bruce smooths gauze over his arm. “What happened then, son?”

Jason works his jaw. When he opens his eyes, Bruce is looking right at him, his gaze clear and hard.

“Then he fucked me over the balcony.”

Bruce’s face shutters. He inhales sharply. His hands tighten where they’re still holding Jason’s arm, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt.

Startled, Jason lets out a little yelp. Bruce immediately lets go, dropping his hands to his sides. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, tightly, and the way he says it tells Jason he doesn’t just mean for the sudden grip. “I’m so sorry, Jason.”

Jason shrugs, jerkily. He still feels numb and queasy. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says.

Bruce catches his gaze again and his face could be made of stone but his eyes are soft and pained. “It’s my job to look out for you out there and I failed. I should have caught up to you sooner. I should never have let this happen.”

Jason looks away but Bruce grips his arm urgently to pull his attention back.

“It should never have happened Jason and I promise...I promise it’ll never happen again.”

It’s not a promise Bruce can really make, Jason thinks. Because it’s not as if he had wanted Felipe to happen. It’s not like Bruce had been able to stop it. And Jason knows how Bruce works. He knows the way his mind is turning.

“That means…” he starts. Stops. Swallows against the bitterness that’s threatening to choke him. “That means I’m fired right? I fucked up and now…”

“No. No Jason. You’re not fired just...benched. And not because you’ve done anything wrong. It’s clearly not safe for you out there. I think - I think a break will do you good.”

Stupidly, Jason starts crying. “Don’t lie,” he snaps, thick and already wet. “You don’t want me as Robin anymore. You think I’m weak.”

“Never,” Bruce snarls, with such force that Jason flinches. Then, quieter: “Never, Jason. I could never think you were weak because of this.”

Jason sniffles. Thick tears trickle over his cheeks. Carefully, Bruce wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close to his chest. Jason lets him, pressing his cheek against Bruce’s ribs. Like this, he can hear the thud of his heart, hear each steady breath rushing through his chest.

“You’ll always be my Robin, Jay but…” a heavy swallow that Jason feels more than hears, “if I can’t protect you, then I can’t, I can’t -“

But he can’t seem to find the words for what he _can’t do_. Jason’s stomach hurts. He pulls away, scrubbing hard at his cheeks in a vain attempt to hide the tears - as an excuse not to have to look at Bruce’s face.

“I’m tired,” he whispers. The exhaustion is a bone-deep ache. “Can I go now?”

Somehow, Bruce manages to make the silence awkward. Eventually, he manages: “Are there any other injuries you need me to look at first?”

Jason’s whole body flushes with warmth. The thought of Bruce looking - or worse, _touching_ \- him _there_ makes him feel cold all over with shame and fear. It’s not like he can do much for him anyway. Jason had shoved some toilet paper into his pants just in case, but it’s mostly stopped bleeding now, he thinks.

“No,” he rasps. He doesn’t look at Bruce.

“Okay,” Bruce says. He rustles in the metal tray for a moment. “I just need to take some blood then. I’ll - uh - I’ll take a swab of your mouth too.”

Jason suppresses a shiver at that but he feels too numb to really protest. Bruce is quick and careful as he draws Jason’s blood and Jason keeps his eyes shut tight because he’s never liked needles and he likes the implications of this one even less. If Felipe has given him something…

Bruce doesn’t touch him when he takes the swab of his mouth, either, and Jason is unspeakably grateful for that. Just says: “Open up, lad,” in a soft voice that makes Jason feel even guiltier when he tenses, face screwing up in revulsion, Felipe’s slimy voice low in his ear: _Open up, Robin. Let me see that pretty pink tongue._

He must make some sort of sound because suddenly Bruce is stepping away from him, his hands up as if he’s worried Jason might bolt. Or maybe he’s worried that Jason is about to throw up, because he can feel the bile at the back of his throat, his already emptied stomach clenching angrily.

Don’t think about it, he tells himself, furiously. Felipe is dead and he can’t hurt him again. It’s Bruce in front of him, just Bruce, his face a mask of furious concern, his hands safely at his sides.

“Jay -“

“I’m fine,” Jason says and does shiver a little at the flat anger in Bruce’s voice. “Please, it’s...I’m fine. Just do it.”

There’s a moment where Bruce visibly collects himself before stepping forward again. Jason opens his mouth before he can say anything else, keeping his eyes open the whole time and Bruce is quick as he gently swabs the inside of his mouth.

Once he’s finished he pushes two cardboard packages into Jason’s hands. “Take these until you feel less discomfort. If there’s any unexpected pain, or it doesn’t stop bleeding, let me know. I’ll get some antibiotics for you too, as a precaution. But we’ll know more after your results are in.”

Jason glances at the packages in his fist. A box of Tylenol and some stool softeners. His stomach lurches.

“Okay,” he whispers.

A gentle hand cups his shoulder. “Go to bed, son. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Jason slithers off of the table and ducks out from under Bruce’s hand to start limping towards the entrance of the manor. He wants so badly to just be unconscious. To just...stop thinking, stop feeling, if only for the night.

“Jason,” Bruce calls, quietly. When Jason glances back, he’s standing at the computer again, the basket with Robin’s ruined costume inside sitting on the desk. “You know where I am if you need me, son.”

And it’s not fair - it’s so not fair - but Jason can’t help but wish he’d just been there in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat!


End file.
